


Assassin vs Assassin: When Assassins Fight Assassins For The Right To Assassinate A Mutual Target

by ChaoticTrickster, Red Dragon (Red_Dragonn)



Series: Dragons vs Humans [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (the entire fic is a fight scene), Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Crossover, Fights, Gen, Knives, Truce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticTrickster/pseuds/ChaoticTrickster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dragonn/pseuds/Red%20Dragon
Summary: Rex has the task of assassinating a human general.So does Jase.





	Assassin vs Assassin: When Assassins Fight Assassins For The Right To Assassinate A Mutual Target

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChaoticTrickster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticTrickster/gifts).



Rex crouched above the body of the former Agiriel general, wiping his black sword on the corpse’s body and sheathing it.

Footsteps in the hall stopped him. He whirled.

There was a human child, maybe fifteen or sixteen, staring at him. The boy’s short black hair was wet with the rain, and he was wearing an oversized black coat that was drenched.

 _Agiriel’s soldiers are first trained at eleven. He’s had a few years to turn into a hardened murderer_.

He noticed the gleam of a knife in the kid’s hand. He saw the handles of two swords curving up over his shoulders. He saw the look in his eyes, a cold, hard sort of glare with only the faintest traces of fear at seeing the corpse and Rex’s own bloody hands right in front of him. This kid was no stranger to violence

He flipped his Thirdblade back out of the sheath and snatched a long, curved knife from his back, holding them carefully in a practiced fighting stance. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The kid smirked suddenly, one side of his mouth quirking upwards. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Rex honestly couldn’t stop the flinch. This shit was _weird_. “I only wanted to kill the general,” he continued. “Don’t stop me, and I’ll leave—”

The teenager darted forwards, throwing a kick right at Rex’s groin. _Damn humans_. He jumped backwards, trying not to crumple into a ball— _damn_ that hurt, and now he felt sick to his stomach, too—and swung out with the short knife. The kid was behind him. How the fuck did the kid get behind him? Was it like Silas? Did they have some sort of time dilation about them? He took a hit to the head.

 _A hit to the head_.

That was it. Rex snapped, lashing out with both the sword and the knife, and he finally made contact with the teenager’s upper arm and chest. Fabric tore. He could see blood and bone through the cut. _He won’t get back up_ , he thought grimly, bending to wipe off his blades on the body of the general again. Two more red streaks marred the downed human’s fine white shirt.

Behind him, he heard a scuffling noise. He whirled in time to see the teenager, _still holding his sword in his ruined arm_ , charging at him.

“Thirds, what the _hell!”_ Rex yelled. “You shouldn’t be able to move! That should be enough to put you down on the ground screaming, what the _hell_ …”

The kid’s smirk widened into a crooked smile. “I’ve had plenty of experience with pain.”

 _Three gods_ … “Are you fucking _shaiden_?” he asked, abandoning the fight altogether and running for the window. This didn’t look like a fight he was going to win. The kid was too fast and too…too fucking… _like that_. “What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck—”

He made it to the windowsill as he heard and felt metal scrape along his back. _Thank fuck for leather armor_ , he thought, spinning.

“Got you,” said the kid.

“I’m wearing armor,” Rex said dismissively, going to climb out the window. He felt weak, like he was being weighted down by something. _Did the kid stick something to me?_ He put a hand to his back. It came away soaked with blood.

 _Oh. Oh fuck_.

Suddenly, the pain he’d managed to completely ignore came rushing in, just like the way that the pain from every other major wound he didn’t realize he’d gotten liked to break upon him once he’d noticed them. He leaned against the windowsill and pretended it was going away.

It really wasn’t, but that wasn’t helpful to consider.

Behind him, he sensed more than saw or heard the kid come back around for another swing, and he desperately threw himself to the ground to avoid it. He couldn’t make a decent escape out the window like this, and he sure as hell would have a hard time with getting out through the building itself if he was bleeing all over and visibly wearing dragon armor. He was so, amazingly, fundamentally fucked.

“I was supposed to kill him!” said the kid, kicking out at Rex. “Do you know how much trouble I’m going to be in for this?”

Rex froze, and the kick took him full in the stomach. “You were supposed to kill this fucker?” he gasped out. “Doesn’t that make us at least temporary allies? I could _help you—_ ”

“Why would I need _your_ help?” the teenager smirked. “I just laid you flat out on the floor.”

“You could also,” Rex said, “help me.”

“I don’t want to help you,” said the teenager.

“If you leave me here like this, I’m going to die,” said Rex.

“Not my problem,” the kid shrugged. His black coat flopped wetly.

“I’ll give you my throwing knives,” said Rex. “They’re purple and red. Very hard to make. Handmade with dragon techniques by a professional. You can’t tell me you don’t want them.”

The kid turned. “Why wouldn’t I just take them from your corpse?”

“You’d have to deal with more soldiers,” Rex said. _This isn’t going to work. What’s that thing Taz is always saying? Spin it?_ “I bet that would be an inconvenience, even if you could beat them.”

The kid raised an eyebrow. “It might. Show me the knives.”

Rex pulled out one of his throwing knives. He’d stretched the truth a little—he himself had made them, but he’d done it with the help of a master blacksmith, and she had done the dye job. The weight on a couple were a little off, but they would still fetch a nice price. The kid’s coat was old and patchy, from what he could see—he could probably use the money.

“My name is Rex,” said Rex. “Do we have a truce?”

The kid shrugged. “My name is Jase.”

“Do we have a _truce_?” Rex asked again.

“You know?” said Jase. “I think we do.”


End file.
